The Explorer without a Map
by Vanessa Anne Hudgens
Summary: Spot Conlon was always destined to be, from the start, an explorer without a map. ONESHOT. READ AND REVIEW PLEASE. T FOR LANGUAGE AND INSINUATION.


**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Spot or the Newsies although I wish I did.**

**AUTHORS NOTE:** This came to me last night and I really liked the idea of it. It's a one-shot. Please read and review! I'm really proud of this! This came after reading a NEWSWEEK article about boys in school and one of the quotes was that boys without a male role-model are like explorers without a map. Funny how inspiration strikes, eh?

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Spot Conlon grew up without a father. Without a mother too. But he did remember them. He remembered how his parents used to fight all the time. But this was Brooklyn, New York. Who's parents didn't fight? Spot also remembered that night. The night it all changed. The night when words like "fuck", "slut", "whore" and "wench" burned his ears for the first time.

They were yelling. Again. And their four-year-old son was underneath his bed, yet again, listening to the arguments.

"All you are is a fucking, no good wench. A whore," a deep voice slurred, his father.

"Michael, you're drunk, you don't know what your saying," a desperate female voice responded, his mother.

"I know what I'm saying you fucking no good slut. Fucking him! I should have known I married a whore."

The young boy could hear the hysteria in his mothers voice as she responded to the man with a cry of, "I am not a whore!"All these words coming out of his fathers mouth were new to him. Fuck, Wench, Whore, Slut. What did they all mean? They sounded bad. But his mom wasn't bad! His mom was good! His mom was the one who tucked him in at night, and told him she loved him. Not his dad. His dad was always gone! So it wasn't fair that he was calling her this.

"Michael, I made a mistake. I said I was sorry. Can we please let it go, so we can stop fighting and give Will a better life?" The boy perked up at the sound of his name. He could hear his mothers hysteria and that scared him. He wanted to protect her. Protect her from the bad guy. Who in this case happened to be his father. She had been worried and sad recently. He could tell. He had come in today from playing and he could see something was the matter in her eyes.

"Mommy, why are you sad?" He had asked.

She responded to him at first with surprise and then with a fake smile, but sadness shone through, "I'm not sad, honey," She proceded to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

"Yes you are!" he responded indignant. "I know you, Mommy. I was inside of you, remember?" She had laughed at him and nodded telling him she did remember. They made cookies and had fun until Dad came home. The boy couldn't understand what he was saying. "What's wrong with Daddy?" he asked.

"Nothing honey." she responded in a more scared tone than he had heard all day, "Just go on to bed, Lemme tuck you in," and she did tuck him in. It was funny how after his mom would tuck him in, he would feel safe, safe like nothing could hurt him or his family and no one should even try because Mommy would kick their butt.

The arguing had started not five minutes after she had tucked him in. It ended thirty minutes later after two loud "BANG!"s echoed through the unusually still Brooklyn air.

The next thing he remembered were the policemen coming. "Where's Mommy Where's Mommy!" he had asked hysterically running after the policeman.

"She's gone, son," was his response.

"And Daddy?"

"He's gone too,"

"When are they coming back?" he asked innocently.

The policeman look struck by the question. "Never son,"

He was confused. Gone and never coming back? That made no sense! If they were gone somewhere they had to be coming back! When he had arrived at the orphanage, he remembered the lady saying, "Tsk tsk, another little boy without a positive male role-model. A boy without a positive male role-model is like an explorer without a map." the policeman nodded in agreement.

He spent six years in the orphanage. That's where he got his nickname, Spot.. Then he escaped to end up becoming a newsie. The leader at that time, his name was Bear, took him under his wing and taught him how to sell papes. "Natch'll talent," he said. A couple years later, when he was 12, Bear died in a fight, at which time he took over and became King of Brooklyn, "King of da Newsies."

He soon found out, or infered, what had happened with his parents. He found out what the words whore, wench, slut, and fuck meant. And that never left him. Because Spot Conlon would never be anything more than an explorer without a map.


End file.
